


Ash

by MagisterShiryu



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Divergence - Robert's Rebellion, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-21
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-07-15 03:18:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 10,439
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16054388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagisterShiryu/pseuds/MagisterShiryu
Summary: The Mad King achieves his goal, and Westeros suffers for it.





	1. Prologue

 

**JAIME**

 

Jaime hadn’t intended to overhear the conversation. Aerys had been talking with one of the many pyromancers that infested the Keep in his private quarters.

“Has the plan started?!” the king asked, with trepidation in his voice.

“Yes, it has, your grace,” the pyromancer said, a dark amusement in his voice.

“Yes! I will now become the dragon, the same one that the raven told me I’d be!” Aerys cackled. “The city shall burn!”

He had barged in there, and slaughtered them both, when he finally realized what they were planning to do.

Burn the entire city to the ground with wildfire.

He genuinely wanted to laugh out loud, Jaime recognized as he ran through the halls, desperately trying to find the pyromancers. His armor clanked and his cloak billowed, but he paid it no mind.

He wondered if Ser Arthur would be proud of him, but he pushed back the thought, as he narrowly avoided smashing into a nearby courtier. The bustle of the castle was unmatched, and the lion almost thought he heard screaming. Maybe there had been screaming.

The knight managed to see Rossart duck into a nearby tunnel, and he smashed into the door, his sword lashing out at the man’s back. The man screamed, and the boy gave him nothing but another stab in the throat.

He almost felt the disapproval of his fellows, but he had learned that he didn’t care what they thought. Not when so many lives were on the line.

His boots echoed onto the floor, and he quickly grabbed some random courtier. Grabbing him by the shoulder, Jaime demanded, “where did those men go?! The ones with the strange robes, the alchemists?”

The man was about to get uppity, but the kingsguard merely showed his bloody sword. “O-over there, they went into the city!”

“Where?!” Jaime hissed.

“I don’t know, oh gods, I don’t know…”

The knight snarled, and shoved him away, not even sparing him a thought as he ran towards the doors of the Red Keep, guarded by Thorne’s lackeys.

“Oi, Lannister-” one of them tried to stop him, but he merely grabbed them by the throat, already feeling his stress rising. They all didn’t have time! Did they not realize?!

“Give me those fucking keys, or I swear I will paint my own cloak red,” Jaime threatened, not even caring how he seemed now. “Do you want to try it out?”

The man somehow managed to gulp, and quickly passed the keys to his welcome hand. Dropping him to the ground, in disgust, the golden-haired boy merely glared at the other guard, whose eyes widened.

Opening the doors, he managed to push them open enough to let him pass, and quickly shuffled out.

A sudden guilt nearly made him stop, as he realized that he might have potentially condemned Elia, Aegon and Rhaenys to their graves.

He didn’t stop however, and rushed into King’s Landing, grabbing one of the goldcloaks by the neck, almost causing an outrage amongst his companions. But the still liquid blood on his sword stopped them almost in their tracks.

“Do any of you goldcloaks know where the king’s pyromancers went?” Jaime demanded, glaring at them all, daring them to even try fighting him.

“O-one of them went to Flea Bottom,” he stuttered out, and he flashed his eyes dangerously. “T-the other went to ah, ah, I don’t know!”

“None of you ever fucking know,” Jaime cursed, as he dropped the man to the floor.

...All of a sudden, the bells rung, and rung. He stared at the goldcloaks and they stared at him.

“Lord Tywin’s a traitor!” One of the smallfolk cried, as Jaime saw flames and heard screams.

His father wanted to sack the city, when it was going to go up into green flames. The knight could appreciate the irony.

Jaime quickly ran towards to Flea Bottom, discarding his white cloak as he went. He didn’t want to have to deal with his father’s soldiers, when he wanted to find the pyromancers.

Ducking into the narrow streets, the boy winced as he smelt the burning of houses, and coughed as he smashed into a pyromancer, who was trying to get into the sewers.

After a quick struggle, Jaime poised himself to kill the man.

Then his vision turned into green fire, and Jaime felt utter agony, and he screamed and cried.

And then nothing at all.

 

**EDDARD**

Ned had ridden his men and their horses as fast as they could, as they tried to keep up with the Targaryen loyalists. He found the act distasteful, but swallowed his own honour. He had to.

They had peaked the hill, only to see Lannister banners. Ned glanced towards Howland, and then towards one of the commanders of Robert’s forces, a certain Samwell Cafferen. He was a man older than them, but not by much, with a balding head of brown hair and a beard. Probably a cousin of the late lord Cafferen, he realized.

“They’ve gotten here before us,” Cafferen stated, grimly. “Lannister wants to prove his allegiance to Robert, I see.”

“By pretending to be an ally. How else would he have gotten past Mad King Aerys?” The Greatjon rumbled.

“That doesn’t matter,” he interrupted. “I am here to make pea-”

A thunderous rumbling interrupted whatever Ned was going to say, as he gazed upon the most terrifying sight of his life. Green fire rose from the city, exploding into a mushroom cloud that instantly turned King’s Landing into naught but ash.

The shockwave sent him crashing down to the earth, and caused all of their mounts to bolt, but… Ned couldn’t stop staring at King’s Landing, as half a million people turned to ash, and a city that had towered over the rest, turned into naught but drawings and memory.

______

 

 


	2. City of Ash

 

 

** EDDARD II **

 

As more and more of the vanguard moved towards the top of the hill, the more and more silence reigned.

They were small, about five hundred men, but Ned had a feeling that even an army of ten thousand would be silent at the sight of all this.

“...What in the name of the gods happened?” Howland whispered, which pushed the knife even deeper. The man was a stoic one… If this had broken his composure…

Ned steeled himself. He had to at least _look_ , right?

“We have to look for survivors,” he said, causing the men to turn to him. “Scout out the ruins. If anyone survived, if anyone has any idea what happened… We have to know.”

“Aye,” Cafferen grunted, shaking himself out of his stupor, as he turned towards Robert’s men.

The Stark turned towards the Greatjon, who merely nodded. It took them five minutes to assemble, and thirty minutes to get to the ruins.

Ned tore off a piece of his tunic, and quickly wrapped it around his mouth and nose, as ash whipped up from the wind, causing the men to cough, splutter and even weep.

A large portion of the unprepared men quickly ducked underneath the hill, to get themselves ready, or simply to continue to weep, due to the ash in their eyes. Ned merely ordered some of the other men to find some water and clean their eyes.

It didn’t matter though, as his cloak nearly turned grey, as he walked through the devastated city. None of the buildings had survived the wildfire, and none had survived whatever the Lannisters had done when they had arrived.

They scoured through it for hours, and found naught. Men had reported that about a hundred people were found from the outside of the city, all looking terrified, and most being unable to even speak about it.

The ones that could, spoke about chaos, about the rising tensions in the streets…

Ned could only nod, and inform them that they were the only survivors. They didn’t even cry, they just slumped even more. As if they had been waiting for it.

That was almost worse than if they had actually cried.

The man eventually found a piece of some golden Lannister armor, destroyed, along with a single piece of white cloth, that had survived merely by the virtue of being under the armor.

...Jaime Lannister, he recognized - it was hard to not remember the golden armored boy with the white cloak.

It was the only thing from the Lannisters that had any chance to be recognized by anyone. They found other random things, but, it merely made Ned realize how many had died, and how many had lives here, that had been robbed away by them, because of a madman.

“Any of you been to the Red Keep yet? Part of it still stands you know,” The Greatjon said, and Ned merely frowned, not that the man could see it.

A resounding “no” echoed, and Ned grimaced as he and most of the able men started clambering in between what resembled dunes of ash, towards the only part of the ‘City of Ash’ as the other men had taken to calling it.

Mounting to the top, was far more effort then he had anticipated. He was glad when he felt stone under his feet, the only comfort in this wasteland. Glancing towards Howland, who merely gave him a thumbs up, he started to move forwards - the first one to do so, even.

“Split into three groups - five men with me, five with Howland and five with the Greatjon,” Ned ordered, who were quick to obey him. He recognized that they walked like veterans, like he did, which he felt no shame to admit, comforted him in this desolate whiteness.

For what felt like hours and what might have been hours, they scoured through the keep, finding naught but destroyed items, and grimly enough, bodies, that had survived the fire, only to get crushed by falling debris.

Ned found Samwell Cafferen down in what used to be Flea Bottom, according to one of the men, gathering up all that had survived the burning, into a depressingly small pile.

Howland had found something resembling a crown, but it was so destroyed that nobody had recognized it - burnt black, and without any value.

They had mockingly called it ‘Aerys’ Crown’, in a fit of dark humor that made Ned amused, despite the gravity of the situation that they were actually walking in.

“Is that everything?” He asked, despite knowing the answer.

“Yes, it is, Lord Stark,” Cafferen replied, without much fanfare. “Where shall we ride to, next?”

“The nearest holdfast with a Maester,” Ned replied, grimly. “I have a letter to address to the Seven Kingdoms.”

_______

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These notes, by the way, are from the fic when it was posted on FF.net and SB, so if you see any comments like 'at the time of writing' or a thing about comments that never happened on AO3... You know why now.
> 
> Basically, every bit of the Lannister army got killed in the blast (or should I say, blasts?), Kevan and Tywin are dead, so is nearly every bit of the population apart from that tiny amount that you saw here.
> 
> Man, that felt rather clinical to write…
> 
>  
> 
> Also a few disorganized responses to comments that I remember at the time of writing:
> 
> The wildfire-nuke similarity wasn’t meant to imply that wildfire is a nuke, but more to be a rather blunt metaphor on how they’re both weapons of mass destruction, and how both have ruined lives, destroyed cities, and reshaped countries.
> 
> The Targaryens are definitely going to be a black mark on Westerosi history, for at least a few centuries (unless they save the whole of Westeros from the Aztecs or something). Even the Essosi, are going to be wary of a family that has a tendency to turn mad, and even had one member be mad enough to want to destroy an entire city wholesale.
> 
> The situation of the Lannisters… Is going to be interesting.
> 
> So, is the situation with the rest of the kingdoms, but that is spoiler territory.
> 
> Changing the subject to prevent spoilers, I just wanna say that next chapter will probably be people’s reaction to Ned’s… Revelation… Which basically means plot-time for the win!
> 
> Once again however, I have to thank MartialLaw for his efforts in beta-ing this fic. Without it, this would probably sound far more ugly then it does.


	3. Consequences of a Letter

**TYGETT**

“I have news from Eddard Stark,” he said to Gerion and Genna as they sat in Tywin’s old solar. Now Tyrion’s in theory. He breathed in, harshly. Gods, this was tough to read. “King’s Landing is naught but ash and… And… Tywin, Kevan and Jaime are dead.”

Gerion fell back in his chair, looking lost, whilst Genna’s eyes widened and watered.

“He has to be lying,” Gerion stood up and paced. “They… They can’t be dead.”

“Eddard Stark has already earned a reputation for taking his foster’s words seriously,” Genna said, quietly, turning to look at their brother in the eye. “He wouldn’t lie, this is almost too preposterous to be a lie, even.”

“He adds,” Tygett continued, swallowing as he did. “That only a hundred people have survived, and none of the buildings, documents or any other important items survived the blast. He also councils us to get ready for a missive calling for a Great Council.”

“Who could they name King, Viserys? The boy from same family that burned King’s Landing?” Genna snorted in derision.

“...They’re probably calling for Robert Baratheon to be king,” he pointed out. “He is both the blood claimant, and he has the throne by right of conquest.”

“Conquest? He has no capital to rule from!” Gerion exclaimed. “Worst than that, he doesn’t even have a damned throne to sit on!”

“...He does have the Tullys, Starks and Arryns under his banner. He also will probably be able to negotiate with those gods be damned Reachlords.” Tygett retorted. “The Dornish have always wanted independence, and now they can have it.”

“We’re thinking far too simply,” Genna spoke. “We are still one of the wealthiest kingdoms in the Seven Kingdoms-”

“Being ruled by a child,” the youngest of them interrupted, causing Genna to glare at him harshly.

“That doesn’t matter,” he said. “I will have to be Regent anyway. This will give us time to solidify the Westerlands, and let us give the best possible education for Tyrion.”

His sister gazed at him as if he was a curious thing, which made him scowl. Just because Tywin was the one who crushed the Reynes and Tarbecks, didn’t mean that he didn’t know how to run a lordship.

“What about Cersei?” Gerion asked. “She will be heartbroken by the news… I don’t want her to take this out on Tyrion - the boy is already too bookish and withdrawn.”

“I’ll take care of her,” their sister stated. “She listens to me, even if reluctantly.”

“And what shall I do?” Gerion questioned, with a raise of his eyebrow.

“Help me with managing the Kingdom, smoothing over ruffled feathers…” Tygett replied, looking at his brother searchingly. “I know that I am not the most charismatic man in the world, which is why I need you.”

“So, are we now a council of three, managing the Westerlands from this solar?” Genna japed.

“It’s natural, isn’t it? It used to be Tywin and Kevan, and now it is us. It fits, methinks.” Tygett replied, seriously.

“...I pray to the gods that we don’t mess this up,” he heard Gerion mutter, and he found himself reluctantly agreeing with him.

Was he heartless, he thought, as he heard Genna weep, and Gerion comfort her, that he felt a cold determination come over him?

**RANDYLL**

“Lord Mace has called all of the lords to meet with him outside of the walls of Storm’s End. A letter from Eddard Stark has come, and Lord Mace wishes to read it with you and the other lords.” One of his pages stated to him, bowing his head to the floor.

With a small grimace and a nod, Randyll began to put on his leather armor, and grabbed Heartsbane. One had to be prepared for anything after all.

As he glanced over the lords still feasting, and as he spied Baratheon’s men standing on the battlements, starved but ready, he felt a surge of disgust rise at his own countrymen’s lack of awareness. He was aware of the effect it had on their morale, however, and thus coldly discarded the thought.

“Ah, Lord Tarly!” Lord Mace exclaimed. “You were the last one to arrive, come, let us read what the rebel has written for us, today!”

“I was merely resting my lord,” he said apologetically, yet neutrally.

“Well? Page? Would you please read it?” Mace asked, kindly if slightly arrogantly at the soft-faced boy. Randyll had never been particularly fond of him, but he was Mace’s preferred server.

“O-okay, milord,” the page said, unfolding the letter. “‘I, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell, address this letter to every lord in the realm. You may not believe me at first, but I swear on my word as a Stark, and on my fostering under Jon Arryn, that all I state here is true. It is rather tough to put this into words, but I shall try my hardest.

“Two days past, I was chasing the remnants of the Targaryen army, after their defeat at the Trident. As I approached the capital, I witnessed the catastrophic destruction of King’s Landing, caused by wildfire, and its inherently unstable properties. The city is naught but ash, with nothing left but scrapped remnants of past city dwellers. I have no idea, why they were there. I am under the impression that Aerys, in his madness and obsession with wildfire, placed caches of the substance all around the city.

"Witness statements from the few survivors that we found back this up - they tell me that Aerys had been asking the pyromancers and local labormen to transport barrels of the stuff all around the city. When I had first seen King’s Landing, I had seen Lannister banners being carried by bannermen in the city itself, and suspect that they were sacking the city in Robert’s name, due to the fires I witnessed before the explosion of the wildfire. This is again, backed up by the same witnesses, who tell me that the Lannisters had already burned down a large portion of the south side when they had escaped, immediately before the wildfire explosion.

“I have found no bodies, and thus have deduced that the entire Lannister army, the city itself, except for the hundred or so survivors have been destroyed in the blast,

I can only give my solemn condolences to those who have lost people to this terrible action, at the end of an already bloody war.

“Signed, Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell.’”

Silence reigned for barely a few seconds, when a clamor of activity exploded in the clearing.

“The rebel must be lying! He has no proof! This is simply preposterous!” One of them shouted.

“Quiet, quiet!” Randyll bellowed, silencing them all in an instant. “We must consider this in full for a moment. Send scouts to the Crownlands, interrogate the lords of the Crownlands, and verify this information. This is what we must do. Do we have the permission of Lord Mace?”

“Y-yes, yes, you do!” The man quivered, causing Randyll to wrinkle his nose in disgust. This was his liege? He had stayed silent when the man had taken glory for his victory, knowing that it was an attempt to boost morale, and to keep his own position higher than his.

Now, he was starting to doubt his own duty.

Banishing the traitorous thoughts, he quickly gathered all of the lords who were willing to assist him in his endeavour, and began making plans.

For if Eddard Stark was correct, this meant that the political landscape, which had been stable for now, would be horrifically shaken up. The Tyrells had, after all, been brought into power by the Targaryens, and if they had truly been dethroned in such a manner…

He had a feeling that he might not enjoy these next few years. They were far too interesting, for him at least.

** DORAN **

It was when the letter had first arrived, by raven from Eddard Stark, especially addressed to him, that Doran had first felt something was wrong.

As he read over the letter, he felt his anger rise irrationally, as he thought that the man was describing too much of what happened in King’s Landing, when he saw attached to the letter, was a small burnt bell, engraved with a sun looming over a red dragon’s head that was only noticeable because someone had taken the time to remove the soot.

It was Rhaenys’.

The Prince of Dorne started sobbing uncontrollably, as the loss set in.

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The curious thing about these notes, is that they both reveal a lot, yet don't say much of anything at all. Again, these comments/notes are rather confusing for you AO3 guys/gals, and I apologize for that.
> 
> Randyll’s POV was a near total experiment. I tried to make him a bit more three dimensional, but I don’t think I managed it.
> 
> Tygett is definitely going to be a recurring POV character. Maybe not as frequently as Ned, who is the de facto “protagonist”, but that’s kinda a given. The reason why the Lannisters don't doubt Ned as much as the Reachlords do, is twofold - they knew of Tywin's plans to attack King's Landing, and also, they are just a tiny bit more savvy in terms of Ned, then the Reachlords are.
> 
> Doran, is definitely going to be the wildcard character for the moment. Did Ned do the right thing, sending that bell to him? Well, only I know, but I guess that you guys could guess.
> 
> Another thanks to MartialLaw for beta-ing this chapter.


	4. Consideration

**BARRISTAN**

It had been two days since Barristan had met anyone besides the maids who gave him his food, and the two guards who surveyed the tent that he was confined to.

He would have been able to escape with ease, if he wished to, yet he did not. They had captured him fair and square, and his prince was now dead at the hands of Robert Baratheon.

There was also the fact that he did not fancy his chances against the dozens, maybe even hundreds of battle hardened veterans situated around the camp, and more specifically this tent.

He pulled himself from his thoughts when he heard the flaps of his tent opening. Turning around, he saw the injured Robert Baratheon in leather armor, carrying himself on a massive walking stick, and Jon Arryn.

“Ser Barristan,” Robert said, seriously, his expression grave. It looked almost like it fit too naturally to his face. “I’ve just received a letter from my good friend, Eddard Stark. Did you know about Aerys’ plans to destroy King’s Landing?”

“What do you mean by that?” Barristan asked instead.

“The fucker just turned King’s Landing into ash, that’s what!” Robert spat, his expression turning dark and murderous. “Over five hundred thousand dead! All because of your madman of a king! Do you still want to protect a fucker like that, Selmy?!”

“That’s impossible! Aerys wasn’t that mad!” Barristan protested, despite knowing they sounded hollow.

Robert’s eyes flashed dangerously. “You fuck! Are you that fucking deluded, to ignore the deaths of hundreds of thousands!?”

Jon Arryn stayed cautiously silent, yet even his eyes showed disgust.

“...I’m not,” he admitted, collapsing onto the chair, not even realizing he had stood up. “Could I please have the letter to read? Or a short summary?”

Robert glanced at Arryn, who merely offered him the letter, as if to say that it was his decision.

“Fine,” the Baratheon spat, before reading him the letter.

He didn’t know why, but it felt like a punch in the gut, as Eddard Stark’s words echoed out of Robert Baratheon’s mouth. He had personally saved Aerys from Duskendale. He wondered if that was his true first failing as a knight.

For what point was duty, if it killed hundreds of thousands?

Eventually, Robert finished, and Barristan could offer naught but a horrified face. What had he done? What had his brothers done?

“We’ll leave you to your thoughts,” Arryn said, coolly. “I pray you come to the right decision.”

...It might have been the hottest night of his life, yet Barristan felt as cold as the Wall, as he made his decision, after hours of mental debate, cold thoughts, and impassioned reminders of his duty. Of his vows to the Realm.

On the morrow, he had sworn himself to Robert Baratheon, an oath to last until the end of his days.

**RANDYLL II**

The investigation into the Burning of King’s Landing, as it began to be called by the men, was one that had proved Eddard Stark’s words correct.

Every house had received the same message, and nearly all had confirmed that the Lord of Winterfell was correct.

Randyll could only look on stoically, as more and more of the lords of the Reach became more and more unsure with the stance they had taken. He only offered neutrality, to those that wanted him to pick a side.

He personally felt that it was more prudent to stop the siege of Storm’s End, and come to the Great Council, whenever it happened. Whilst the rebels might not have the men to fight against the Reach, they certainly had the better commanders overall, and they had hardened men, unlike the weak lillies that they had.

It’d be a fight of the tacticians and the strategist, and that was a fight that Randyll didn’t want to fight. Robert Baratheon had lost against him, but that was at the beginning of the war. The man might, and probably had improved.

Eddard Stark and the North was an unknown quandary, that had fought in the Battle of the Bells, and didn’t have any identifiable weaknesses, besides lack of armored cavalry, but that would be covered by Jon Arryn’s knights. Hoster Tully added even more men, especially if he managed to bring Brynden Tully into the fold.

He didn’t like that incertitude, that randomness that he wouldn’t be able to predict or act against. Especially now, when the Westerlands were weakened and desperate, and Dorne was grieving and murderous.

Banishing the thoughts, he concentrated on the amassed lords, and more importantly, Mace Tyrell.

“The investigation into the matter has concluded, my lord,” Randyll declared. “Lord Eddard Stark was correct. King’s Landing is naught but ash, and there is no massive column of refugees. This leads me to believe even if he was lying about the number, which if I’m going to be honest, is doubtful, given the veracity of his previous claims, that they were few enough to follow him.”

The assembled lords instantly exploded into a flurry of whispers, shouts and hurried discussion. Meanwhile, Mace sweated and glanced around uncertainly, beneath his swaddling clothes.

Suddenly, the fat lord exclaimed, “I shall end the siege, and present myself to this Great Council! I shall bring Lord Tarly, Lord Redwyne and Lord Florent to accompany me, and assist me in my decision in choosing the king!”

Randyll grimaced, as he witnessed the doubtful looks on the gathered lords, and even the knights. Shaking his thoughts off, he quickly assented along with Paxter and Alester. “Agreed, my lord.”

Despite their offering of the end of the siege, Stannis had stood at the top of the battlements, and declared, “I will not give Storm’s End until I have proof that none of my men, myself or anyone else that I have within these walls will be harmed by your men, Lord Tyrell!”

It was courageous, and cautious in equal measures. Yet, Eddard Stark’s letter, once more, made the difference. After the stubborn defenders had been handed it by means of shooting an arrow with the letter attached to a string at the end, Stannis had once more cautiously come out of hiding, at the top of the battlements.

“Does this mean you have officially bent the knee to my brother and the rebels? If so, march out of the Stormlands. Leave the kingdom, and go back to the Reach! Give back the Stormlands and Storm’s End to the Baratheons!” He had shouted down, his voice hoarse.

“He cannot be serious,” Paxter groaned.

“My lord,” Randyll whispered to Mace, his voice harsh. “We must obey his conditions. Prove our word to Robert, that we do not want war, anymore.”

One written reply later, with one word in it, and the Reach marched out of the Stormlands, thus ending the siege, and the Rebellion in the mainland.

**DORAN II**

When he had told the news to Oberyn, his little brother had been furious, just as he had been.

Yet now, Doran felt merely empty. There was no one for him to concentrate his rage on, no one that he could blame… All that was left, was cold, hard determination.

“What can we do, brother?” he asked, rhetorically, as Oberyn paced. “We have no one to take revenge against. No one to concentrate on. All we have is sadness, anger that we cannot give a target, and the sands of Dorne.”

“That’s why I’m so angry, Doran.” Oberyn retorted. “And, I do not know why you don’t think that Eddard Stark is insulting us, by sending us the bell!”

“He was being kind!” Doran shouted, slamming his fist against the arm of his chair. “He has given us the only thing that remains of my sister, niece and nephew! _Our_ sister, niece and nephew! How can I be angry at him for that!?”

His brother looked stunned. “...I apologize, Doran. I didn’t think of it like that.”

“It feels so strange,” he commented. “One that I used to think of as an enemy, now I think of, as the sole ally that we have outside of Dorne.”

“The Reachlords don’t count?” Oberyn smirked.

“Don’t mock me now, brother,” he chided, despite the smile that he wore. The moment of levity faded, as they arrived at the heart of the subject.

“So, what do you plan to do, regarding this ‘Great Council’,” Oberyn asked, quoting with his fingers.

“Help secure the Kingdoms,” Doran said. “I do not want more innocent children dying at the hands of madmen, and power hungry lords.”

“I will follow you, brother, whatever you may do.” His brother replied, a serious expression on his face. “For Elia, Rhaenys and Aegon.”

“For Elia, Rhaenys and Aegon.” Doran said, feeling as if he had sworn an oath with those words. He probably did swear an oath.

______

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More retrospective from me. I promise though, when this does catch up to SB and FF, that these sort of strange disconnectedness in the notes will cease.
> 
> Whilst I promise that this isn’t a fix-fic, I simply can’t promise a fic where all goes wrong, all the time. In fact, I don’t think that is what you want, when you read this story.
> 
> Randyll and Doran are slowly becoming some of my favourite characters to write, at least in some fashion. They are near polar opposites, too, even if they share a few traits.
> 
> Barristan, again, was an experiment. I tried to get across his more dutiful side, with not telling Robert anything until he dropped the bombshell, but then get across his more human side, with his remorse and guilt about protecting a madman.
> 
> Now, one last thing before I go - I’ve heard some people mentioning that Dorne was drying up, yet, my beta, MartialLaw, when he researched this, told me that he couldn't find sources for this? So, if any of you have a canon source…
> 
> Massive thanks to said beta. He’s, as always been a massive help for this fic.
> 
> ...I’m gonna have to stop repeating that, or he’ll get a big head soon, lol.


	5. A Good Man

**EDDARD III**

Encountering Tywin’s old camp was a surprise to Eddard. It was about a thirty minute march from the burnt city, and was a curious sight.

The guards had been expecting a fight, yet they were quick to join his host of refugees, men and now, cooks, blacksmiths and other things.

The march was incredibly slow, compared to the fast chase that he had experienced against the remnants of Rhaegar’s forces, but he didn’t mind. It allowed him to get to know the men and women who were accompanying him to the meeting point that he organized with Robert and Jon, under the Gods Eye, at the mouth of the river.

“Lord Stark,” the burned boy said to him one night as they were setting up camp for the night. Sandor Clegane was a strange boy to Ned, contradictory was maybe a better word. Utterly blunt one minute, and courteous the next. “You still haven’t told me about what it was like scouring through the ruins.”

“We had to wait for days,” Ned replied. “When we first approached, the fires were so intense that we nearly all went aflame. Only our own quick thinking saved us from burning alive. We lost good men that day…”

Sandor looked afraid, as though he was remembering something horrible, but then managed to keep his expression neutral. Deciding not to question the boy on the matter, Ned continued. “It took nearly a week for the fires to calm enough to let us get near, and even then, the ash would burn if it got into your mouth or nose.

We also had to cover our eyes with a blindfold, only letting us see unclearly. We first performed a cursory search, and encountered the survivors. It was then that I sent the letters to the lords. We continued to wait for a few more days, and then performed another search.”

Sandor gazed at him for a moment. “Which is where you found Rhaenys’ bell, I assume?”

“The Greatjon?” Ned asked, grimly, not even waiting for the boy’s reply. “Yes. We didn’t find much else.”

“...Thank you for telling me,” the burnt boy grunted after a moment, causing him to nod in return, ending the conversation.

The river leading up to the mouth of the river was surrounded by rolling fields, and small towns that he periodically permit the caravan to visit and spend their coin at. He might as well continue making work the economy, after the destruction of the main economic area of Westeros.

The thought chilled him, as he reflected on the matter. How much had Aerys’ madness cost them? Westeros was at their weakest that it had ever been since the Dance.

He, Robert and Jon had to reunite Westeros, and they had to change it. They had to make it better.

Ned felt tired. All he wanted was to find Lyanna, and go back North. Yet, he simply couldn’t bring himself to leave Westeros in such a state.

His dark, and more importantly, truthful thoughts continued to plague him as they marched. Sandor Clegane was slowly becoming a sort of trusted person to Ned. He didn’t tell him about his thoughts, true, but he did enjoy the conversations they had.

The boy was troubled, that he could tell, and thus Ned tried to consistently give time for him.

Howland and the Greatjon only snorted in amusement, and told him that he was a bleeding heart.

As the lake finally came into view, he was instantly struck by how beautiful it was. The rays of the setting sun reflected off the dark waters, turning it into an almost copper-like color. He noted that the lake was so enormous, that he couldn’t even see a far shore, and the thought gave him relief. He did not want to see Harrenhal.

Advancing towards the mouth, he quickly set up camp in the rolling hills, directly observing the lake and the river, and giving them an almost eagle-eyed view on anyone coming.

The days passed, and the camp felt like a small village to Ned, especially with how relaxed his men were. Even he was starting to enjoy it, even occasionally helping out with the more menial tasks, earning him some surprised looks. The camp was even getting traffic from the other villages in the area, even if some had gotten scared off by seeing armed men.

It was when the sun reached its apex, that he finally glimpsed Robert and Jon’s banners, peaking over the hills.

Nodding to Cafferen, Howland and the Greatjon to come with him, he glanced at Sandor, who looked hesitant, and quickly motioned the boy to come as well, earning himself a surprised look.

Riding out towards the banners, Eddard didn’t know what he expected to find. What he certainly didn’t expect to see, was Ser Barristan Selmy riding next to Robert.

“Ned!” Robert exclaimed, quickly jumping off his horse and smacking him to the back. “By the gods, does it feel great to see you!”

“I see that your injury hasn’t hampered you much,” he commented.

“D’you really think a flesh wound would have kept me down for long?” The boisterous man asked rhetorically with a grin. “Oi, Jon, Selmy! Come here!”

“I am at your service, my lord,” Ser Barristan stated, causing Ned’s brow to rise. Had Selmy sworn himself to Robert?

“Ned,” Jon said with a smile, as he walked up to him. “Robert does have one thing right, it is good to see you.”

“Ser Selmy?” Ned asked the man discreetly, as Robert quickly bounded over to his companions, Ser Barristan in tow.

“He joined Robert’s camp,” his foster father returned, a serious expression. “After we received your your letter, we decided to interrogate him, see if he knew anything, any details. Whilst he didn’t have many, if any at all, he decided to join Robert in an attempt to redeem himself.”

Ned nodded in reply, as the group of seven moved into the camp. The camp was still a flurry of activity, even as many came to observe his foster brother and father.

Nodding to the three men, he entered his tent first, inviting Robert and Jon to sit down.

“...I honestly don’t even know where to start,” Ned admitted. “There is so much to do, so many things that could go volatile at any moment…”

“Your letter ended the siege at Storm’s End according to my brother,” Robert stated, a serious expression on his face. “The Reach seems to at least be choosing to remain neutral for the moment.”

“What about the Lannisters?” Ned asked. “Any news on them?”

“None,” Jon shook his head. “But given the line of succession, I suspect that Tygett will be Tyrion Lannister’s regent until he is of age to rule - which will give them time to solidify themselves, and prepare the boy.”

He grimaced. “Tywin Lannister wasn’t the only lord amongst his host. It’s incredibly likely that the Westerlands will be a succession of boy lords, regents and other things for a while.”

“True, true.” Jon murmured. “We are in a position of strength, at the moment - yet, our position is weaker then it has ever been.”

“What must happen first,” Ned said, “is a Great Council. We must begin to heal the Kingdoms, even if it is merely diplomatic at first. After that, we must decide on how we should approach this.”

“King’s Landing should remain ash,” Jon said, causing them to turn to him. “The Kingdoms must be reminded of what happened when we let a Targaryen king onto the throne once more.”

Ned swallowed hard, and Robert’s eyes grew fierce, as he spoke. “What about the situation on the Narrow Sea? Rhaella and her dragonspawn remain there.”

“And Aegon and Rhaenys were dragonspawn?” Ned said, coldly staring at his friend. “They suffocated to death, clutching themselves to their mother’s breast. Just because the male, and more importantly _adult_ Targaryens were madmen, does not mean we demonize children. Otherwise, why should Jon have rebelled for _us_ -”

“Calm yourselves,” Jon interrupted, glaring fiercely at the two of them. “This is possibly the worst time for an argument - we are currently organizing matters that could affect an entire nation. Millions of people depend on us making the right decisions. Have your argument elsewhere, and maybe even, never, but right now, it is the time for action.”

“You’re right,” Robert admitted, his gaze now morose. “I’m sorry, Ned. It’s just…”

“I know,” he replied, quietly. “I know.”

“...We’ll talk more tomorrow.” Jon said, as he left the tent, leaving the two of them alone.

“We’ve never had an argument before this damnable war.” Robert commented. “I can scarcely believe that I used to want war.”

“You always have, and you always will.” Ned replied, not unkindly. “I don’t want you to change, Robert. I just...”

“...I know.” The massive man said quietly, as the Stark trailed off, lacking for anything to say. “Let’s get ourselves some ale, or some mead from one of the local villages, or even this camp of yours. It’ll clear our head.”

“I’d like that.” Ned replied, as Robert shuffled awkwardly out of the tent, leaving him to his thoughts.

He instantly started cursing all the names that had been involved in starting the war, before faltering. He just couldn’t. Far too many innocents had been involved, for him to feel comfortable with it.

He sometimes hated being a good man.

 


	6. Time

**ARTHUR**

It had been a full moon since Rhaegar had left to fight Robert Baratheon, and his armies, and Arthur felt worried.

The Prince had been getting increasingly stressed, even lashing out, as the war raged on, north of them. It didn’t help when Lyanna continued to demand what was happening to her brother.

He had even feared that the man would start shouting when the girl asked once too much, but he had cooled quickly, after he had witnessed their afeared looks.

“What has been happening to my brother?” Lyanna asked, sounding defeated. He honestly didn’t know how she hadn’t relented at this point. It had been moons since she had started asking, and she rarely stopped.

“We can’t tell you,” Ser Hightower said, gruffly. “You know we can’t.”

“...I just want to know how Ned’s doing,” Lyanna retorted, sharply. “Since you’ve stopped letting Ashara visit - you can at least give me this.”

“We don’t know,” Arthur admitted, earning himself a warning look from Gerold. “We’re so far away from any proper civilization that…”

She said nothing after that, and Arthur felt a stab of guilt rise in his stomach. They still hadn’t told her about the war raging on, due to Aerys’ atrocities, and in part, her kidnapping. When she would find out…

Gerold said nothing to him as he passed, but Oswell gave him a comforting pat on the back. The man may have a dark sense of humor, but he was still human.

Sometimes, in his darker moments, as he heard Lyanna’s screams of frustration, he thought that he should just tell Ned Stark where they were, and accept whatever punishment he would give. Probably death.

Yet, he was a knight of the Kingsguard, who obeyed the words of his liege. Even if they made him swallow his honour.

“We can’t continue like this,” he said to Gerold, one night, after they had refused her again. She didn’t even react, only gained a depressed look. “We haven’t even told her that her brother is rebelling against the crown…”

“I understand,” Ser Hightower replied with an understanding look, giving him a comforting hand on the shoulder. “But we cannot disobey Rhaegar’s orders. You, especially, should know that.”

“He’s my friend, but I’ve never been forced into a situation where I’m literally lying to a woman’s face about her own family, in his name.” Arthur replied, distaste in his mouth.

“We have our duties, Arthur. This, unfortunately, is one of them.” Gerold reminded him.

“Who knows? Maybe the Usurper will just die…” Oswell spoke up, somewhat sarcastically. “It’d solve a lot of our problems.”

“I wish...” Arthur answered, as they alternated the watch, both for enemies, and to stop Lyanna escaping.

The thought darkened his already poor spirits, and he decided to act. Rhaegar had always approved of them expressing themselves at liberty.

Descending into town at nightfall was incredibly risky, yet he just couldn’t let a woman, even a she wolf like Lyanna Stark, suffer freely. He had to alleviate it. At least for the moment.

Entering the nearest ‘town’, which was more of a large village in practice, he handed their contact in the guards, a small bag of gold to keep his silence, and then proceeded to hand him a letter addressed for his sister.

He hoped that he had made the right decision.

 

**EDDARD IV**

Robert was waiting for him in front of a large tent that acted like the bar for the camp, as somewhat bawdy and overall jovial tunes ringing from inside echoed around the campsite.

“Ned!” The man jovially announced, clapping him on the back as he neared. “You ready? I’ve been hearing some nice tunes from inside! This place is incredibly lively, you know.”

“Reminds of that old tavern that we snuck to on that village outside of the Eyrie. Do you remember it?” Ned asked, fondly.

“Oh, by the gods, yes! Ahahah!” Robert laughed, as the bartender handed them an ale. “Jon’s face when we returned… I’ll remember it forever! I thought we’d never hear the end of it!”

He chuckled, taking a gulp of his beverage. “You did lose nearly all of our savings for the month.”

“Oi!” The man said, with a grin. “I wasn’t the only one who lost at the dice!”

“Yes, but I was winning until you waded in!” Ned japed, feeling genuinely good at the moment. “Then you lost it all, within one sitting.”

“It almost makes me want to play dice once more,” Robert claimed. “Or at least, some type of card game.”

“Like, what type?” Ned asked curiously. “There are a lot, that I remember playing with you.”

“Something like that… What was it called… Gwest?” The Baratheon replied, scratching his head.

“That game was good,” the Stark replied. “Pity that it’s never played anymore.”

“We should restore it into fashion,” Robert joked, or at least Ned hoped he was. “At this Great Council that we plan on doing.”

“I don’t really wish to be reminded of that,” he murmured.

“That’s fine,” the black-haired man said, shrugging it off. “I didn’t want to talk about it either.”

The bar became incredibly active as the night went on, as Ned tried to moderate both his and Robert’s drinks, far more successfully than when he had tried to do this a few years ago.

“I’m sorry Ned,” his friend said suddenly, turning towards him drunkenly.

“What for?” He asked, blinking wearily, feeling rather drunk himself. The Stark realized that he might have been lying when he had thought that he been managing their drinks well.

“For that dragonspawn comment,” Robert murmured, a saddened yet enraged expression on his face. “I’ve been thinking on it… And I’m no better then Aerys! And his burning!”

“You’re far better of a man then him,” he retorted. “I know you are, and Jon knows you are.”

“...We’re so fucking drunk, Ned.” Robert slurred, after a few minutes of silence. “Anyone responsible who can stop us making a cock of ourselves?”

Sandor and Ser Barristan entered the bar at that point, and the boy started to laugh at the sight of them, with Barristan merely shaking his head in amusement.

Grabbing their arms, the two brought them over to their respective tents, talking to each other in low tones, that Ned was honestly, too sloshed to even try to listen to.

The burnt boy laid him down on the bed, and quickly set down a bucket next to his bed, and then sat down by his bedside. Ned didn’t remember much more than that, since he started to sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

**RHAELLA**

As soon as the news of what her husband had done, had reached the isles of the Narrow Sea, the fleet had left the harbor, and most of the men had turned against them.

They were confined to a tower, with the remaining loyalists fighting tooth and nail to keep them alive, as the door was frequently bashed down, but then hastily replaced by some furniture.

Yet, she wasn’t stupid. She knew that the men would fall, eventually.

She wanted to laugh, weep and scream, all at the same time.

“Mommy?” Viserys whimpered, weeping into her chest. It was only them in the room, as all of the men were in the tower. “The bad men w-will go away r-right?”

“Yes, they will, my sweet little dragon,” Rhaella promised, as she reached towards the herbs. “These things will cause them to go away. I promise.”

“We have to eat them at the same time,” her boy made her promise. She chuckled, tears in her eyes.

“Yes, we will… I love you.” She said, as she ate the herbs, shortly after her little dragon.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll admit it... That Rhaella scene was both easy yet hard to write.


	7. Plans and schmes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Plans are made, and schemers scheme.

**TYGETT II**

In the little bubble that was their grief at the deaths of their family, Tygett hadn't realized how precarious of a position the Lannisters were in, and how many lords, heirs, and sers had joined Tywin's host. The Westerlands were squabbling, regents were being raised, and then being revoked, children, younger than even Tyrion, were now in positions of power, and said positions of power were being fought for by cousins, uncles and bastards.

Eddard Stark's Great Council would have to wait. Tygett and his siblings had to reunify their kingdom, and quickly.

Ordering a servant to fetch Genna and Gerion, he debated for a moment if he should bring in Tyrion. The boy had to learn, and this would be an exercise of the mind, which certainly wasn't the boy's weak point.

Sending another servant to fetch Tyrion, his mind then turned to the recently taciturn and depressed Cersei, who had refused to talk to anyone, not even her aunt. Tygett knew that the girl would have to marry, sooner rather than later... But he decided to push the thought back, as an act of kindness.

Hearing the door creak open, Tygett tore his gaze away from the beautiful sight of Lannisport and the Sunset Sea, to turn to his siblings and the boy he was the Regent of.

"Uncle," the boy started to say, with a small grin. "What have you brought me up here for?"

"I've brought you up here so you can sit at our council meetings," he replied, bluntly, glancing at Genna and Gerion meaningfully, before looking back at Tyrion whose eyes widened. "So you can become a lord, through experience, and not through books."

"I-I… I understand." The boy said, wide-eyed with a distressed look on his face. "I just… Just don't know how I'm going to do this…"

"With a lot of help," Gerion replied, kneeling down to Tyrion's level, and looking at him in the eye, a sincere expression on his face, before Tygett could think to say anything. "But you'll have us. We'll teach you. Genna with her wit, Tygett with his seriousness, and me with my pretty face."

The mismatched eyes of the boy shone with humor, as he smiled. "Thanks."

A few quietly comfortable moments later, Genna cleared her throat. "Tygett? You brought us all here for a reason - spit it out then."

"The Westerlands is currently facing a crisis of succession," he started bluntly, leaning backwards into the chair. "Tywin's host contained most of the lords and their heirs, who were ready to prove their worth or some other bollocks like that - and now I want to figure out a solution."

"One problem with that," Gerion said. "Is that, would any of these lords or ladies accept the help of a house who condemned their lords to death?"

"We didn't have anything to do with Aerys' madness," Genna dismissed. "Especially us, as cold as it is to say."

"We could tour the Westerlands," Tyrion started, before wilting at their gazes.

"Continue, boy," Tygett chided, though not unkindly. "You must always try to be assertive, especially as a Lannister. Never, and I repeat, never wilt in front of conflict."

"I mean, what we could do, is basically tour the Westerlands with a small force in case anything goes wrong, and try to solve the problems of it as we go." The misshapen boy continued, somewhat more confidently.

"What about Lannisport and Casterly Rock then?" Genna questioned, a curious look on her expression.

"They'll be manned by one of us," Tyrion stated. "Meanwhile the others will all be trying to solve the problems, separating if need be."

"What men, however? Your father spent most of our forces. We have at best 1,000 men at the moment, and nearly all of them are green boys or decrepit. Do we hire mercenaries, who may be unloyal or who may betray us?" Tygett asked, critically.

"We could hire the Golden Company," Tyrion replied, intensely he looked at him. "They never break a contract from what I read."

"They may hate the Targaryens, but they certainly will not follow the rebels." Tygett retorted, ignoring Gerion and Genna's warning looks. He knew that he was being harsh, but he was trying to make the boy's mind work. "We would be hiring potential rebels to the new regime that will likely be installed. Robert Baratheon, Eddard Stark and Jon Arryn would not stand for it, and they will have Hoster Tully with them, with maybe the Tyrells agreeing with them."

"We only need to hire them as long as we need to sort out those problems," The boy argued. "Then they can go back to the Free Cities."

"And what if they stay? Then we have a war on our hands," he countered. "What could happen, is that we hire a less sizeable company, one that may be able to be crushed more easily in case they do get any ideas."

"Such as the Company of Roses, the Stormcrows or smaller companies such as those," Gerion added, earning himself various raised brows. "What? I once wanted to join one of those companies, if only for a time…"

Tygett shook his head in a rare feeling of amusement, and quickly wrote down the idea, despite noticing several problems - it was rather sound. "Good work, Tyrion. It has flaws, but it's a decent idea. Anything else?"

The ideas were all rather sound after that, including one from Genna that essentially proposed that the houses that held only women would marry matrilineally, and for houses that had been exterminated by the blast, that they'd either try to find a near blood relative, or divide their land between the neighbouring vassals.

Those ideas were the two that stuck to his mind however, as they ate, and went to bed.

Maybe it was possible to combine the two ideas? In order to give some confidence to Tyrion, and make note of Genna's competence, which had been sorely under-appreciated by Tywin, he thought, as he kissed his wife on the cheek before falling to sleep, dreaming of lions and greenfire.

**ARTHUR II**

The dark hair of his sister peeking over the mountain was almost joyous to Arthur, despite the fact that he had been on latrine duty for the past two weeks in return for the breach of his oaths. Gerold had admitted that it was probably for the best, for it was true that they sorely needed to know what had happened, but he still needed to be punished.

Ashara rode towards them, a nervous look on her face, and Arthur wondered why, only to dismiss the thought as he grabbed his sister into a hug.

"By the gods, it is good to see you." The knight murmured into her hair.

"You too," Ashara smiled, even as she still neared his neck in terms of height. "Even if you smell rank."

"Blame the latrine duties," he replied, jokingly as they walked towards the tower, noting that Lyanna was spying them from the window. "My punishment from Gerold for contacting you."

"And well deserved it be," Gerold smoothly interrupted, before bowing his head. "My lady. Do you have any news on the Rebellion?"

Ashara's previously alight eyes, suddenly became dead. It was almost a terrifying change. "Only if you permit me to tell Lyanna what is going on. She has a right to know…"

"I have a duty to the Prince," Gerold stated, neutrally.

"A duty to a dead Prince," Ashara retorted, and Arthur felt himself choke up. "Rhaegar died at the Trident, killed by Robert Baratheon. They even say that the jewels of his armor flung themselves onto the battlefield, and that men from both sides attempted to grab them."

...Was his best friend really dead? It almost seemed impossible for him to consider, yet he knew that his sister wouldn't lie about this. He sat down on the rock, suddenly pensive.

"...Fine," Gerold muttered, just as shocked as he was. "Go on up."

Ashara merely offered a sad smile, before mounting the stairs, leaving the three knights to their grief.

Lyanna's shouts of joy only made it worse, when he presumed that Ashara told her the news, even when she fell silent at the news of her brother rising in rebellion to protect himself and his foster brother. She then screamed in rage, shouting and cursing Rhaegar, and the three knights, only to quiet suddenly.

It would be night by the time that Ashara left the tower, looking rather exhausted if relieved. Kissing her brother on the cheek, and saying goodbye to his brothers, she rode off towards Kingsgrave.

Arthur absently noted that her stomach looked a tiny bit too straight, as if she was hiding something underneath her dress-shirt, but didn't think much of it, in his grief.

By the gods… Rhaegar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I sincerely apologize for my absence. I don't really have an excuse besides school and lack of motivation, but those don't really stand to credibility, I know.
> 
> Anyway, I hope that Genna and Tyrion's ideas are ones that seem rather credible - I don't have much knowledge on the subject.
> 
> Arthur's part was a bit lackluster in my eyes, but I did hopefully, blatantly or not, foreshadow a few things.
> 
> Some, but not many, thanks to MartialLaw, my beta. (jk). 


	8. The Tower

** ARTHUR III **

Arthur was surprised by how serene he was. A fortnight had passed since Ashara had left them, and it was a fortnight that Arthur had heard Lyanna pace around anxiously. He wondered, for a brief moment, what was she so anxious about?

Was she worried that the Usurper would come and smash the baby in her stomach, just as he had smashed Rhaegar? Yet, Arthur had a feeling that she didn't care about him nowadays. No, she was anxious about something else. He didn't bother to think about it though. He just honestly, didn't care.

The knight mused that he probably should amend his statement - serene wasn't the best word. Maybe… Uncaring? He didn't know. Words and letters had never fascinated him.

As sword clanged against sword, he quickly swept Oswell's feet under him, placing Dawn at the man's throat, after grabbing his arm to prevent him from falling. Moving back stoically, he saw his two fellow knights nod, morosely.

All they did, and all they could do, for the moment, was spar, keep an eye on the strangely quiet she-wolf, and wait. None of them knew what for, but they waited.

Arthur held a dark hope that it was going to be Eddard Stark with a company of men, riding over the mountains that they'd see. Yet, he somehow knew that it wasn't going to be him. A fool's realism, maybe?

He pulled himself from his thoughts, and continued observing the slowly descending sun.

It would be dusk that same day, as the rapidly rising sound of horses against the arid deserts of his homeland, that he realized why Lyanna had been so antsy.

Ashara had unintentionally, given her ways of informing someone of her location, and now they were coming to rescue her.

"Oswell," Gerold began commanding, as they readied themselves, rushing to the sounds of hoofs. "Grab a bow, and prepare to fire. Arthur? Come with me. We shall face these men, and see what they intend."

"Pray that they be few," Oswell spoke. "We have about twenty arrows, Gerold - that just isn't enough."

"I want to parley," the Lord Commander said. "I'm only being conscious of our position here."

"We should hurry," Arthur interrupted, as the beats of the horses became slower and slower. With a nod of acquiescement, the three brothers separated, each to perform their duties.

The night was dark, yet the sun that still hung above the hills and the clouds shone the area in orange. The light showed off everything, from the position of the two knights, and the position of the Dornish soldiers. They were approximately four, all armed with spears. Arthur grimaced, and Gerold frowned uncertainly.

Spears were almost a complete nullifier against swords, and the two knew from experience that in a battle, they couldn't afford to pull off any fancy tricks.

This was going to be brutal, if it came to a fight, Arthur decided, as Gerold and himself approached the group.

"Who are you?" The Lord Commander asked bluntly, his hand resting warily against his sword, as the space between the two groups shortened with each step.

"Can't say, really," the leader, a small, fast man with dark hair and a classic Dornish beard answered. "Here on urgent business."

"State your business now, or we'll cut you down." Gerold returned, his eyes narrowing.

Arthur wordlessly showed off the gleaming light of Dawn, causing both fear and apprehension to rise in the eyes of the men.

"Alright, alright," the man quickly rose his hands placatingly, despite the taunting grin on his face. "I'm here to distract you."

"From what?" The Sword of the Morning questioned, as Dawn rose from his sheath.

The man merely bowed mockingly. "The Martells send their regards."

It was quiet for a moment, before Arthur swung Dawn out of its sheath, lunging at the man, the sword claiming a throat before anyone could do anything.

Grabbing the shaft of a spear, he quickly slammed the backend into a man's stomach, before lashing out with his fist against his throat. Backing away rapidly, he noticed that the previously small amount of men had doubled, and that whilst three had gone after Gerold, the rest had gone after him.

Without a second thought, Arthur sheathed Dawn, causing a surprised laughter from his attackers.

"The Sword of the Morning surrendering?"

"What the fuck?"

The knight merely raised his gauntleted hands, and waited for them to approach, tuning out their stupefied remarks. And like crows to a corpse, they did, approaching him - trying to surround him.

Seconds passed, as he did naught but wait. This had to be a surprise.

"A Kingsguard never bends," he intoned suddenly, his fist smashing against another's face, and his armor took glancing blows from the spears. Quickly moving around the blows, he turned their own reach against them, as he smashed into them brutally, quickly unsheathing his sword in the chaos that he had wrought.

Lashing out with a horizontal swing, blood sweeping onto the floor in a torrent, Arthur grimaced at the state of their throats, heads or whatever Dawn had struck. The sword truly could cut through anything.

Stalking forward, he silently killed the rest who had managed to survive his ploy, without so much of a thought. He truly was a wraith, he thought unkindly, as he observed Gerold who had successfully managed to slice the throat of his last attacker, only looking somewhat exhausted from the effort.

He began to move over, willing this to be over. They had to capitulate - offer themselves to the judgement of Ashara's 'Ned', and hope that it was enough-

A sudden twang echoed in the mountain, and he saw the arrow burying itself into the Lord Commander, and all he could do was stare. Oh no, no, no...

Ducking into cover as an arrow rang over his head, Arthur angrily smashed his gauntleted fist into the rock. He quickly discarded Dawn, the sword clattering to the ground. Quickly launching himself onto the plateau that the arrow had come from, he launched himself towards the archer, and brutally smashed his fists into the man's face.

And he did it again, and again, as the rage took over. He saw nothing else, as the blood spurted onto his armor, his helm and the floor. Eventually, he found himself hitting naught but mush, and he stumbled off the body, horrified with himself, and...

He had failed his duty, his Lord Commander, Rhaegar, his family… He had even failed his own knightly vows, when he had been stopping Lyanna from returning to her brother. He was simply a failure of a knight.

Pushing open the door of the Tower, the first thing he saw was Oswell's corpse, and the first thing he heard was…

Arthur's boots clanked as he rapidly mounted the stairs, the hurried noises echoing from the floor above. Pushing the door with a heave, the clattering of the attempted barricade thundering in his ears, as he saw a Dornish man helping Lyanna Stark get out by the window with some rope, along with five to seven or so other men and women by his side, who snarled at him, unsheathing their spears and swords.

The knight reluctantly raised Dawn. He didn't wish to fight, but if he had to...

Moving faster then they could even react, Arthur quickly sidestepped an attempted thrust of the spearman, before quickly grabbing his blade, careful to not scrape it against the wall, smashing the hilt into the man's brain - killing him with ease.

Grabbing another man's sword by the blade, he smashed his gauntleted knuckle into the man's face, before grabbing the side of his head, throwing him into the spears and swords that were slashing at Arthur, causing them to launch a cry of panic as they tried to in vain get their comrade's corpse from their weapons, enabling him to march forward, quickly decapitating three of them, Dawn singing, almost glowing.

Raising his sword once more, he narrowed his eyes, as they gazed at him fearfully.

"Get out of here," he said quietly. "I don't want to kill you, but I will, if I have to."

The three that remained quickly ran down the stairs, leaving him on his own. He wondered if he'd regret that choice, but he had to try to redeem himself. Limiting the number of soldiers who'd lose their lives could be a good start.

Turning towards the window, he looked at the horses that waited for them on the horizon and merely felt more sorrow. He truly had failed.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is kinda bad overall, I feel, but I kinda had to do this chapter.
> 
> I'm sorry again for my lack of regular updates - I used to do it once every two days, but I fell off that rather quickly. I hopefully will regain a rhythm sooner rather than later.
> 
> This chapter may not make a lot of sense, but… I foreshadowed it, believe it or not. I'll explain it anyway, in another chapter though.


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